Monday, August 18, 2008

The spinning gold coin that the Vicar flipped into the middle of the table landed with a dull thump alongside the pile of other coins and various objects in the middle of the velvet-covered table. This particular coin had the design of a tentacled, multi-mouthed creature etched upon it. I had long since given up wondering where the Vicar procured such currency; I knew only that it wasn’t from somewhere walked by the general populace. This annual tournament which I normally arranged around the Winter Solstice was instead being held a fortnight before mid-summer, a time of hot happenings and sticky fumblings.Seated around the table, which was a the top of my southern tower, were of course the Vicar, resplendent in his scarlet silk robes, a sash of cream running across his ample torso, a hat woven from blonde gypsy hair and festooned with a dodo feather sat sideways on his bald pate. To his left sat Verneer Suth’amon, a warlock whom I had met during the Rak Campaigns of ’79. He sat, sunk back into his chair, a heavy woolen robe his only couture, his face entirely shrouded in darkness. A glint from his eye, or a flash of his filed teeth, were all that one could glimpse. He radiated power like heat from an oven.

To his left sat our final guest, a little person named Faulk. I had assumed he arrived with the Vicar, but a quick question during a break had dispelled that notion. Not knowing how he had come to be a participant in this game, much less how he had gotten past the gargoyles, I was amused and intrigued enough to let him continue. Besides, he was terrible at cards. With the Vicar’s ante, we resumed play. The warlock folded with a grunt, and play passed to Faulk. He studied his cards for a moment, a slight widening of his eye was all that I needed to know that he had a decent hand, though not a great one. He leaned down and rummaged through the blood-stained burlap bag that sat on the floor beside his chair.

Plucking something from the bag, he tossed it into the middle of the pile. The Vicar’s gasp echoed by own, Vermeer shot forward to the edge of his seat, expressing his first emotion of the night. Here before us was a treasure few thought we would ever witness, much less have it show up in such unceremonious manner. I turned to look at Faulk, raising one eyebrow as I stared. He met my gaze confidently and laid down his cards. The Knight of Shadows rose above The Smith and was juxtaposed with The Virgin. A top hand, one of the best in fact, though I had him beat.

The Vicar barked a laugh and folded his cards before him, signaling the serving wench to bring more wine. Faulk turned to me, triumph already stealing across his pock-marked face. I calmly spread my cards upon the table. The Queen of Dreams above The Standard juxtaposed by Beef Curtain. The highest hand in the game. The color drained from Faulk’s face as I picked up his wager. “Mistress Kate… she’ll have my head if I don’t return to her with that!”, he shrieked, his jaw falling slack as he began to shake. “Well, you should have thought of that before you wagered it, yes?” I said. The object in my hands, one that I finally would be able to see with my own eyes, is of course…

The Girl Slaves of Morgana La Fay. The title alone promises so much, and boy does it deliver! Once again we must all prostrate ourselves before the magnificent awesomeness that is ‘70’s French cinema. They just knew how to get things done, and this film stands as one of their crowning achievements. Our movie opens with a coven of elderly women, all wearing black robes, who have a nubile, naked blonde chick in their clutches. Apparently she has been found naughty in their sight and is being cast out. The leader of the elders is none other than Gurth, a purple-suited, tranny-faced dwarf with a majestic hump on his back and a penchant for running like a deer, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

So sayeth Gurth!

We then cut to two hotties, a brunette named Francoise and a blonde named Anna, who are going on a country drive for some reason. We don’t know, nor do we care, because we just want to see them disrobe and fondle each other, but once again I race ahead, my eagerness to bring you filth knowing no bounds. Soon our girls arrive at an inn, and, parking in the middle of the road, they head in for a drink. The inn is packed full of nefarious looking local dudes, and of course Gurth. Having not seen any women other than their haggard wives, these men give the ladies a good hard stare. Ordering mulled wine and a coffee from the innkeeper (who is dressed to the nines in a black turtleneck and houndstooth jacket), the girls notice that Gurth in particular is giving them the stink-eye.

They decide to continue on after Gurth leaves via the back door. Onward they drive, into the night, where they are quickly lost, seeming to pass the same hedgerow over and over. They spot a nearby barn and decide to take shelter for the night. Lacking nothing else to do, they begin MAKING OUT! Now here’s what we all signed up for, am I right folks? Yes, I am. Anna takes point, her hand running inside Francoise’s shirt, pinching things that need pinching. This smoking hot scene is over before it began, leaving the viewer at full tumescence and with the lingering need to take a cold shower.

"Let's get started, the Duke will arrive momentarily."

Fran awakes the next morning to find Anna missing. A quick search of the grounds reveals Gurth, who poses with such power and presence that one can feel the heat from his loins through the television. He bids Fran to follow him if she wants to see Anna again. With no other course of action, Fran follows Gurth as he leaps and bounds through the woods like a deer descended from heaven. Such grace, such beauty! His leaping and scampering is only out-shown by his magnificent gray-shot locks and his unparalleled make-up skills.

"...'cause you are the wind beneath my wings..."

Gurth leads Fran to a boat, which is decorated with animal skins and scented candles. Fran boards it, and it moves of its own accord, taking her to a nearby castle. Waiting for her are the Pastel Sisters, 3 women wearing see-through pastel-colored robes who quickly take her into the castle, despite Fran’s questions as to where Anna is. Soon Fran meets the titular Morgana La Fay, a busty brunette who has the twin habits of wearing low-cut robes and kissing women, two traits that all busty brunettes should have, I’m sure you’ll agree.

We cut to a scene of Gurth, who is apparently employed as the caretaker of Morgana’s slave girls, reclining on an animal-skin rug (they have lots of these in the castle. Seriously, a whole forest worth of animals were felled to give props for this movie), a slave girl running her fingers through his hair as he watches two other girls get busy with each other. Ahh, the life of Gurth! He orders the girl combing his hair to join the other three, an action that elevates the scene 10 fold.

Right about here my loins reached Ludicrous Speed.

Meanwhile, Fran is going along with things quite well. She throws a question about Anna in a few times but otherwise she allows herself to be disrobed and bathed by the Pastels Sisters, a scene which I will have to recreate next Saturnalia. A sumptuous meal is provided, with wine poured by Gurth. Morgana explains that she is basically a powerful witch who has mastered time, which she demonstrates by turning mid-day into night. She further explains that she holds the key to eternal beauty, and also that she loves pink tacos for an after-dinner snack.

She takes Fran over by a roaring fire, a hookah is brought in, Fran smokes it, Morgana kisses her a bit, and my turgid member knows no rest. We soon get a bit of character development for Gurth, as a scene unfolds in which he is alone in his bedroom, talking to himself in the mirror. We learn that he is in love with Morgana, but that she doesn’t reciprocate, seeing him as something of a footstool. Gurth vows that one day he’ll be master over all, and we don’t doubt his verve. I suspect he’s been taking Ionized Yeast supplements.

"Pass the hookah on da left hand side."

Next up, we have Gurth leading the Pastel Sisters and Morgana down into the bowels of the castle for a ritual. He is, however, forbidden to watch. Once again Gurth is snubbed! The ritual in question finally reveals to us what Anna has been about. She’s tied up in the center of a room while the Old Crone Crew watches on. One of the Sisters tells Anna that she must submit to Morgana’s power, and thus receive eternal beauty, or defy her and turn into an old women. Hmm… decisions decisions. Anna chooses eternal beauty, of course, and partakes of the Jesus Juice that is offered to her. Thusly, she joins Morgana’s harem.

Meanwhile, Fran thinks it is high time that she vacated the area, so off she goes, wearing naught but a skimpy nightie and no shoes. However, she doesn’t go far, as the magic boat is gone. Choosing potential death over an eternity of luxury, Fran dives in and swims for it. She reaches the other side and begins running through the forest, only to run right into Morgana, who has a picnic prepared. Fran turns and runs again, only to once again run into another Morgana picnic! Realizing that she can’t escape, Fran gives up. Morgana reveals her true feelings, promising to teach Fran all of her magic, something we quickly find out she has denied the Pastel Sisters.

Unbeknownst to Morgana, the Pastel Sister have been listening in via scrying to all that is going on, in a scene shot to so in such a way that I was instantly reminded of an Abba video. Jealous to the extreme, they begin to plot.

"Mama Mia!"

"Here I go again!"

"My My, How Can I Resist You?"

Gurth is enlisted, since he is tired of Morgana’s refusals, and a plan is set in motion. Gurth tells Fran that the three Sisters hold talismans of power, and should she acquire them then she can escape. One is a necklace, which Fran steals, and the other a tunic worn by one of the Sisters, whom Fran seduces and beds in a scene so smoking hot that I had to dunk my hog into a bucket of ice water after viewing. This scene is inter-cut with a collection of lezbonic orgy activities deep in Morgana’s harem that is so epic I thought for a minute that I was back at Vicar’s winter cottage during the fall of ’89 watching “Where The Boys Aren’t 9” whilst getting drunk on oozo.

"Directions: Apply a liberal portion of honey before application of the Man Ranch(tm)"

Fran is successful, but Gurth is found out. He is tied up and left for dead in a tower. Fran goes to him, and in a touching scene the benevolent Gurth gives up his ring, which apparently gives him long life, in order to help Fran escape. Gurth, the sprite-like dwarf of giant stature, dies. Fran, now in control of various castle facilities, makes use of the magic boat and is able to finally pass through the magic forest. She rubs Gurth’s ring on a stump, which summons a mighty steed, which whisks her away.

"The mighty Gurth, fallen."

Upon arriving back in civilization, however, the first thing Fran runs into is an old woman. Seeing the twisted ravages of age on the wizened visage before her, Fran cannot contain her revulsion. Making the decision we all would have made several hours ago, Fran decides to return to the castle to live out eternity with nothing else to do than sip wine and gaze upon free-range teat.

In a scene that defies all logic, Morgana meets Fran at the edge of the forest and escorts her to the inn where Fran and Anna first hooked up. Fran gazes through the window and sees… herself, lying with Anna in the hay! WTF? Is she just remembering that fond time, or are we in some sort of time warp? Perhaps Anna and Fran are still there sleeping on the hay, eternally at rest while their souls reside in Morgana’s castle.

Whatever the case, it isn’t important, because this movie is rife with dwarves and lesbian activities and so I salute it. The sheer amount of unaltered breast in this movie, coupled with Olympic-level muff diving and see-through gowns, give The Girl Slaves of Morgana La Fay3 solid thumbs up from yours truly. This film is a gem that all of my readers should own. We must salute Gurth, played by the great Alfred Baillou, who sadly passed away in 1982 at the ripe old age of 67.

You will be pleased to know that Faulk, in full-blown panic mode, leapt to his death after first trying to wrest the disc from my hands. He splattered across an inner courtyard and was quickly devoured by the fell beasts contained therein.

I'll send one of my minions to bring the disc back to ya, so don't be alarmed if, when you step out of the shower, a tall, hairless mute is standing there wearing only a loincloth, bearing your movie on a silk pillow.